So, knowing how central the river was to life in Gos, and not averse to showing off a little, Rebo led Lee and Norr out of a side street and onto the river walk that ran along the river's north bank. Having consumed nearly all of their supplies aboard ship, the group was only lightly burdened. Lee barely felt the weight of his pack, or so it seemed, as he peered through shop windows, jumped up onto the waist-high wall that kept people from falling into the Dimba, and was immediately ordered to get down.
The first thing the newcomers noticed about the river as they looked down into its blue-green depths was that it seemed to be in a hurry to join with the great sea. The water was very clear. That meant they could actually see incoming cargo modules as they whipped past. Though more industrialized than the west end of the city, Mountainside as the locals called the neighborhood they were in, was a lot more interesting. Rebo pointed to rows of hand-operated cranes and the nets that were stretched between them. “They lower the nets into the river, catch the cargoes sent down from the highlands, and pull them out. It's a fast, inexpensive way to bring raw materials down from the mountains.”
“But how do they keep track of who gets what?” Lee wanted to know. “And how do they keep everything dry?”
“Well,” the runner answered, “each merchant maintains an agent up in the highlands. They buy the materials and load them into special watertight containers. Weights are attached to achieve neutral buoyancy. Then they mark each barrel with a code and toss it in. The river does the rest. Clever, huh?”
“Very,” Norr put in as she watched a wooden crane lift a net loaded with dripping containers up out of the river. “But what's to stop thieves from deploying their own nets upriver?”
“The river comes to the surface only a few times between the headwaters and Gos,” Rebo responded. “And those locations are well guarded. Come on, we'd better find a place to stay, before the other passengers grab all the rooms.”
The other two nodded in agreement, and as they turned to leave, a poisoned dart flew past Lee's neck and lost itself in the river. The youngster remained blissfully unaware of his narrow brush with death as Rebo led them toward the west.
Still concealed by shadow, the black hat assassin lowered the hollow tube that doubled as her staff and marveled at the boy's good fortune. Or, had his survival been predestined? And, if so, what would that imply?
Norr felt a sudden need to turn and check on Lee. He looked up at her, smiled uncertainly, and took the sensitive's hand. In spite of her efforts to counsel him, the youngster continued to have nightmares about the battle with the monk and was no longer willing to carry his knives.
Part of the problem stemmed from the trauma involved in having to kill a man, but this boy bore a larger burden as well. Lee had been raised to believe that he was the Divine Wind, a great teacher sent to the physical plane to usher in an era of spiritual enlightenment, which would benefit millions if not billions of people. But now, having been confronted by an obviously sincere individual who was willing to sacrifice his life in order to stop what he saw as an imposter from ascending the throne, Lee wasn't sure what to believe. “If I were truly an avatar, I would think nothing but important thoughts,” Lee had told her in confidence, “and I would know who I had been in previous lives. What
if the black hats are correct? What if the boy they sent to CaCanth is the
real
Nom Maa? Perhaps it would be better if I were dead.”
Norr had worked long and hard to convince Lee that murder was wrong, no matter what the supposed justification, and that he had been correct to defend himself. But while he smiled, and seemed to agree, the sensitive knew that doubts remained.
A series of turnings brought the newly arrived travelers to a narrow street lit only by lamps. The Starman's Rest was reputed to be so old that it dated back to the time when starships landed on a weekly basis, and the little hotel had been a favorite among professional spacers. Now, no longer able to rely on off-worlders for a substantial portion of its revenue, the inn had become a home away from home for coastal purchasing agents, many of whom lived in Gos for months at a time.
Rebo took the usual look around prior to approaching the inn and wondered what to do. It had been clearly advantageous to form an alliance with Norr in the aftermath of Lee's fight with the black hat monk. First, because two pairs of adult eyes were better than one, and second because the sensitive had been able to help the boy deal with the trauma he had experienced, something the runner knew he wouldn't be much good at.
Now, with the first leg of the journey behind them, Rebo wasn't so sure that the alliance made sense anymore. First, because there was no particular reason for the threesome to stay together, and second because while he had disclosed the true nature of Lee's identity to the sensitive, she had never seen fit to explain why the metal men were pursuing her and remained somewhat secretive. With those facts in mind, the act of checking into the Starman's Rest together might send the wrong signal. But how to gracefully disengage?
The front door swung open, providing entry to a comfortable lobby, which was filled with staid but well-cared-for furnishings. The man behind the front desk had put on some weight since Rebo had last seen him last, but there was no mistaking the shaved head, gimletlike eyes, and bushy black beard. It was Mo Jahn all right and Rebo smiled. “Who's in charge of this worthless dump anyway?” the runner demanded loudly. “I've seen better pigsties.”
Jahn's brows came together in one uninterrupted line, and the proprietor was reaching for the black-market blast stick that was racked under the counter, when something about the stranger's voice triggered a memory. “Jak Rebo? Is that you? Why you worthless piece of crap! Look at you! You're all grown-up!”
Lee looked up at Norr, who shrugged. “I know it's hard to believe, but I get the idea that they like each other. It's a man thing . . . Once you grow up maybe you can explain it to me.”
Jahn came out from behind the counter, the two men exchanged hugs, and Rebo heard himself tell an unrehearsed lie. “Mo, this is my wife Lanni, and our son Dor.”
“You're married?” the proprietor exclaimed. “My wife will never believe it.”
Norr was still in the process of evaluating the falsehood and wondering why the innkeeper found Rebo's marriage so hard to believe, when Jahn wrapped her in a bear hug. “Welcome to the Starman's Rest,” the businessman said. “I will personally take you to your room.”
Because of the ovenlike conditions up on the surface, anyone who had a desire to acquire additional square footage was forced to expand
downward.
That meant the newer hotel rooms were those located at the very bottom of the structure. Jahn showed the threesome into the boxy
twelve-foot-by-fifteen-foot room as if ushering them into a palace. Which, based on Rebo's previous experience, wasn't that far from the truth. Space was at a premium in Gos, and judging from the number of beds that had been crammed into the gaslit room, it sometimes serviced as many as six guests.
Jahn had just completed a review of the room's amenities, and was about to depart, when the runner took his arm. “One last thing, Mo . . . Please put some other name on your register. And, if someone comes looking for us, please let me know.”
The proprietor's eyebrows inched higher. “Oh, so it's like that, is it? I should have known. Some things never change. Of course . . . I'll speak to my staff.”
Norr waited until the door had closed before dumping her pack onto a bed. “Well, sweetie, how long have we been married anyway? About ten years?”
Rebo grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that . . . You can bail out anytime you want to. I assume you intend to make for the coast. That's the most pleasant place to live on this planet.”
“Yeah, sure,” Norr replied, eager to cover up the fact that she had no plan other than to escape Anafa. “Don't get me wrong . . . I appreciate your hospitality. Jahn seems like a nice man. How did you come to know him?”
“It was one of my first runs,” Rebo explained. “I brought him a letter from his long-lost father. I had to wait four months before I could board a ship and spent most of that time living here.”
“Is that how long we'll have to wait?” Lee inquired, speaking for the first time.
“I'm not sure,” Rebo answered honestly as he lowered his pack to the floor. “I was bound for Anafa back thenâand
we're headed for Ning. The ship will leave from Tra. That means a cross-country trip in order to get there. That much is for sure . . . The question is when will the next vessel depart from Tra? Assuming it's still running, that is.”
Although Rebo had disclosed Lee's true identity, the sensitive had been unaware of where they planned to go next and felt a sudden sense of loss. It had been a long time since she had lived withâor been close to another human being. Still, she had no reason to accompany them, so a refuge along the coast made sense. “Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll figure that out. So, given the fact that this is our first night on Pooz, how 'bout a celebratory dinner? I'm buying.”
Rebo grinned. “Sounds good! I know just the place. Assuming it's still there.”
The illumination provided by the skylights had started to fade, and an army of lamplighters had just started to make their evening rounds, when the threesome left the hotel. Night came early below ground, but Rebo liked the warm buttery glow that the gas lamps generated, as well as the way that shadows slid across the city's ancient walls. Not only that, but the runner knew that most of the shops wouldn't close for hours yet, and all manner of pedestrians were out strolling the streets.
But, appealing though the city was, Rebo knew that dangers lurked in the less-traveled passageways, and kept to the main thoroughfares. He also left the Hogger where would-be cutpurses could get a good look at it, kept Lee close by his side, and looked back over his shoulder from time to time.
The black hat assassin was extremely skilled, however, as were the Dib Wa provided to her by the local monastery, all of whom were dressed in ordinary attire. The runner saw
them, but had no way to know who they were, or what they intended.
The Falls restaurant was an open-air affair that consisted of twenty linen-covered tables, each of which had its own candle, and were grouped around the storefront that contained the kitchen. The falls, for which the eatery had been named, could be seen on the opposite side of the river walk, and roared gently as the Dimba tumbled down a series of man-made ledges before entering a calm stretch, where outgoing cargo modules were being dumped into the water.
It was early yet, which meant that the threesome were soon seated at one of the centermost tables, a location that Rebo deemed to be safest because newcomers would form a protective wall around his ten-year-old charge. The runner felt reasonably secure as the three of them settled into their chairs, but would have felt less so had he known that a black hat assassin was in the process of being seated at a nearby table, and that one of the waiters had already dispatched a message to the Techno Society.
Having placed their orders, and talked for a while, Rebo and his companions were still at work on their appetizers when the street urchin arrived with Kane, Von, and two of her functionaries in tow. Unable to intervene in such a public setting, and with the centermost tables having already been taken, the newcomers were forced to sit at the very edge of the river walk.
It wasn't until the main course arrived, and Norr had consumed her first forkful of baked river fish, when fingers of inky blackness started to find their way in among the otherwise benign thought forms that hung all around her. The sensitive frowned, swallowed, and dropped her fork. It clattered on her plate. “Jak, I don't like the feel of this place. We need to leave.”
Rebo's hand slid in under his jacket, and his eyes scanned the diners seated around them. Though not acquainted with the exact nature of the sensitive's powers, he knew they were real. On the other hand he had barely touched his dinner and had no desire to leave on what might amount to a whim. “Can you tell me why you feel that way? Or who to look out for?”
“No,” Norr said stolidly, “just that someone . . .” The sensitive's voice faltered, her eyes widened, and her hands came up as if to push someone away. “Oh, no! Not now! Go away!”
But it was too late, as Milos Lysander took control of Norr's body, rose from the chair, and yelled at the top of her voice. “My name is Lysander! This body is my channel! If members of the Techno Society are present, then come to my aid!”
Kane had no choice but to respond. He stood, drew his handgun, and yelled, “Take her alive!”
The black hat assassin had no idea who Kane was, or what he was shouting about, but saw what she deemed to be the perfect opportunity. She stood, produced an ugly machine pistol, and yelled in Tilisi. “Kill him!”
The nun meant the boy, but one of the Dib Wa assumed that she meant Kane, and fired a shot at him. The technologist felt something burn the upper part of his left biceps, heard a meaty
thud
as the slug struck Von's chest, and fired in return. A Techno Society functionary shot one of the Dib Wa, and Rebo pulled the Crosser. Food sprayed the air, and the table rattled madly as the assassin's bullets punched holes in its surface, and barely missed Lee. The runner's first bullet took the black hat assassin in the throat, the second passed through her open mouth, and the third drilled a hole between her eyes.